


Bård's Magic Christmas (not so great, actually)

by Routcliffe



Series: Halvbakt: Short Fantasies [4]
Category: Ylvis
Genre: Fantasy, Gen, Humor, festive fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-02
Updated: 2018-01-02
Packaged: 2019-02-27 05:39:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13241595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Routcliffe/pseuds/Routcliffe
Summary: It is December 2016.  Finn doesn’t know about secret plots or anchor webs or a conspiracy to broadcast anxiety; he just knows that on his first Christmas, the brothers are hurting and everything feels wrong.  And he thinks he can help Bård by giving him the best gift ever.





	Bård's Magic Christmas (not so great, actually)

“Liked you the gift I getted you?”

Something in Brynjar’s voice made Finn toss the dishtowel aside and come back to the table, to the remains of the goose, and the table still festooned with candles and cloth-of-gold and its sugared fruit centrepiece. The Solstice had been three days ago, but the Aruviel sisters, like many of Oslo’s elven population, celebrated Christmas Eve by osmosis. “The gift basket? Yeah! Cripes, I’m sorry, I thought I’d already--”

“You thanked me,” Brynjar assured him. “But did you like it? Honestfully?”

“It was awesome. It was stuff we needed.” He looked into Brynjar’s troubled face. “What’s up?”

Brynjar kneaded his left hand with his right. “Jessalyn thanked me too, most graciously, but she thinked hers wrong. I tried not to eavesdrop, but she haved a hard time not to laugh, to spare my feelings. And I understand not. Something you know they want or need, that they do not have, is that not right? That is what you telled me.”

“I’m new to this too, Brynjar,” Finn reminded him.

“But everyone _likes_ your giftings,” Brynjar protested, sounding very much like he was trying not to cry.

Finn’s own voice got very soft. “Really? They do?”

“The pendant sweetly smote Melantha’s heart. Jessalyn adorifies the router bit. And I are wearing both of your gifts now. The shirt are great concentrated masses of cool, and the knee brace are so comfortable, and make a great difference.”

“Thank goodness! I worried about that one. Whether it was presumptuous. But every time we had lunch at that tunnel place, I saw you looking at it.”

“From Melantha, I wouldst be grateful but somewhat bristly at the presumption. From you it are perfect.” Brynjar sighed. “And you knew it. Tell me, please, what rule has I broken with Jessalyn?” 

“Well...” Finn said carefully, furrowing his brow. “I think it’s a money thing. Everything you got for me was perfect, it was stuff I needed, and I didn’t have to go out and get it myself. But for people like Melantha and Jessalyn, I think their idea of a good gift is something they wouldn’t have thought of getting for themselves.”

“Ah,” said Brynjar. His face fell. “ _Oh._ ”

“What?”

“Vegard and Bård are also people who can go and get things for themself, are they not?”

“You got them gift baskets too?” 

He nodded miserably. “I lefted them on their doorsteps on my way here. But I has spent my budget. I cannot getting better things. Perhaps I could make something?”

Finn squeezed Brynjar’s shoulder. “Don’t sweat it. They’re going to understand. Hell, from what I gather, Vegard’s still feeling really rough. If you saw what he needed, and gave him that, he’s probably going to love you forever.”

Brynjar looked thoughtful. “If I has chance to render additional service to Vegard, it shall be done. And Bård?”

“Bård will be okay. He’s been through hell too, and he’ll just appreciate the thought.”

“What getted you for them?”

Finn got up from his chair with a little sigh. He started shovelling garlic and dill mashed potatoes into a microwaveable container. “Vegard was difficult. I know he’s not feeling well, and he’s not thrilled with me...”

Brynjar’s voice went up an octave. “Pardon?”

“I know he’s had other things on his mind, obviously, but he hasn’t spoken to me in weeks and weeks.”

Brynjar got up and joined Finn at the sink, taking up the dishtowel and drying the silver. “Finn...”

“What?”

Brynjar made a face and shook his head. “I has made promises and taken confidences. But doubt not Vegard’s love, is my suggestification to you.”

“Okayyyy... Well, I got him some fancy dark chocolate, and when I was out picking up Bård’s gift, I found a scrap collector who had one of those old enamel signs he likes so much. A soap ad.”

Jessalyn chose that moment to pad out to the kitchen with two glasses. “Are you talking about Vegard’s sign?”

“Uh-huh. I was just telling Brynjar about it. You two all done your movie?”

“The first one. We think we might have room for popcorn now. Gotta say, I was a little dubious about the sign when you said--it’s like, why are you giving him _garbage?_ \--but Melantha showed me Helene’s blog.” She took a ceramic bowl out of a lower cupboard and measured some popping corn into it. 

“What’d you think?” Finn asked eagerly. 

She plucked the dishtowel from Brynjar’s unresisting hands, threw it over the bowl, and sketched a glyph over the top of it. For five seconds, her answer was drowned out by the sound of kernels popping. She pulled the now dry towel off the popcorn. “Impressive. It’s like all his fashion sense disperses into his surroundings. He and Helene make their home decor _work_.” She dug a serving spoon into the butter dish, and spoke a couple of words that made the butter melt onto the popcorn as she walked back into the living room. 

Brynjar frowned at the dishtowel. “And for Bård?”

Finn grinned. “Okay, I’m proud of this one. Tonight’s _too_ cold, so I deliver them tomorrow. For Bård...”

***

“Merry Christmas,” Vegard said, and his voice was gentle, but there was something in it that reminded Bård of ashes and thunderstorms.

“How is it today?” Bård asked. 

“Tolerable. Better than I thought it would be. It was a pretty good day. Thanks for the tiles. And Helene says thanks for the lantern. Well, we both do. We tested it last night. It’s really beautiful. And the kids would say thanks too, but they’re too busy playing with their stuff.”

Bård chuckled. “You knew I’d love the lyngepause.”

“That was the point of it.”

“Maria has already chosen her spa day. But listen, the reason I’m calling is, I just got a text from Finn, thanking me for the gift basket, and _I_ didn’t send him a gift basket. I told him Brynjar is the one doing gift baskets this year, but he insists it’s not one of Brynjar’s.”

Vegard laughed, and then broke off with a little moan. “They are kind of distinctive, aren’t they?”

“What’d he give you?”

“Dental floss, lemons, paper towel, malt vinegar, a good-sized red onion, sandpaper, erasers, blackberries, shoelaces, a jar of maraschino cherries, chicken broth, paracet, aaand a couple of cucumbers.”

Bård snorted. “I got garbage bags, Polysporin and bandages, some spray air freshener, socks, a fire blanket, baby wipes, sardines… I haven't looked at all of it yet.” 

“But Finn’s other gift basket is from me and Helene,” Vegard confessed. “Nice cozy things for an expecting couple. Chocolate and body butter and fuzzy socks because her feet apparently get cold, and Helene found some coffee she swears is nice.”

“Okay, I’ll text him and let--”

“No,” Vegard said. “I left the name off for a reason.”

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t want M-- I don’t want them to know it was me. More fun that way. Right?”

“I suppose,” Bård said dubiously. “So what do I tell him?” 

“That he’s welcome,” Vegard said. Their telepathy was gone, but Bård heard something in his brother’s voice that let him know Vegard was getting tired or emotional or both.

“Listen, I’ve got to get back to the festivities,” he said. “Maria invited one of the neighbours over for lunch, and she’ll be here in half an hour. And you sound like you should lie down.”

“Yeah,” Vegard said raggedly. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.”

Bård went back to the text from Finn, to answer. There was another one now. 

> btw check the front door now :D 

With a feeling that was half excitement and half dread, Bård slipped his phone into his pocket. Ignoring inquisitive looks from his kids, he went to the door, and opened it. The sun had been up for a couple of hours already, but the air was cold enough to make his nose hairs frost up. There was a sturdy cardboard box with a lid, and a microfibre blanket, soft and very expensive-looking, but a bit worn. He had a bad feeling about this. 

He lifted the lid. Coming from under the blanket were soft mewing noises.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed, lifted the box and carrying it into the warmth of the house.

“What is it, Papa?” Jens asked, jigging up and down next to the box. 

“I think Finn got us kittens.”

Jens let out a whoop, and both girls exclaimed and gathered around. Maria dried her hands and came running. Bård grimaced. If everyone else got attached, he might be stuck with cats in the house for who knew how long? He unfolded the blanket.

Sofie hung over his shoulder. “So cute!” 

“Colours!” Nora exclaimed. 

Jens got down on his knees next to the box, and peered at its mewing, meeping contents. “Papa, they look funny.”

Bård had been about to slip in his contacts, but found he didn’t need them. Maria met Bård’s eyes. “I saw perfectly ordinary kittens until Nora said something. And then it... just... it’s like it came into focus.”

“Their glamour works based on our expectations,” Bård murmured.

“And our kids were expecting this?”

“If I had to guess, I’d say it uses a light touch on developing brains. Which is probably best.”

“They’re, like, mutant kittens,” Sofie enthused, drawing one of the wriggling little bodies out of the box. Everyone converged on it. 

Its eyes were enormous and golden and slit-pupilled, and it was covered in orange fuzz with indigo tufts. Its face was indeed a bit kitten-like, but its muzzle was different. The base of its tail seemed unusually thick, tapering to a point. Its ears were low, almost at the back of its head, and the skin of them was thin enough to be translucent. It held onto Sofie’s thumb with tiny jointed talons. “Look at its little hands!” she cried in delight.

The little thing yawned, displaying a forked tongue and two rows of needle-like teeth. 

“Why don’t we put him back with his brothers and sisters?” Bård suggested a bit shakily. 

The yawn ended in a sneeze, and Sofie yelped and dropped it. It squealed in fright. Stubby little wings shot out, fluttering ineffectually. Jens caught it in his arms. “He has wings! I’m gonna call him Sneezy, Papa.”

The kitten hid its head in the crook of Jens’ elbow, curling up in a small ball. 

Nora dropped to one knee and ran a finger down the kitten’s back. “You scared him,” she said to Sofie reproachfully.

“I’m sorry, little guy,” Sofie crooned, stroking the downy little head before turning away. She showed her parents a red weal on her palm, just at the base of her little finger. “When he sneezed, he... it burned.”

Maria gently took her hand. “Go run some cold water on that, honey. Bård, are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He gave her a small nod. “Listen, guys,” Bård said, “they’re awfully cute, but I don’t think these are cats, and I don’t think we can keep them.”

To their credit, the kids looked sad, but they didn’t argue. Jens cradled Sneezy protectively. “Do we have to put them back outside?” he demanded, tears in his eyes. “It’s _cold_.”

“No, no,” Bård soothed. “Bloody hell.” He thought for a moment, absently petting the knobbly little head. Then he pulled out his phone again and dialled. “Jessalyn? Merry Christmas! It’s Bård Ylvisåker.”

The joy in her voice was gratifying. “Bård! Hi! Listen, thanks for the flamed maple. It’s gorgeous.”

“Oh... you’re welcome. And I loved the, um... green thing.”

“Thought you might. With practice, you can use it to store magic.”

“Sounds great,” Bård said, a little guiltily. Vegard would have been all over something like that. “I, uh... actually I was calling because I have a little... situation.”

Jessalyn groaned, and chuckled. “Does your situation involve dragons?” 

“Oh, no, it’s not quite--” Bård looked again at Sneezy, who looked back at him with golden eyes, and blinked--first vertically, then horizontally. He looked at the talons, the thick little tail, the nubs of wings, and turned away. “Dragons.”

“I _told_ Finn, when he said he’d found them, but he was so excited. He _would_ listen to Mel, but she’s trying really hard to, like, back off and let him make his own decisions about things.”

“Nice that she’s forcing autonomy on him,” Bård said.

“I know, right? I hinted that dragons are a big responsibility, and this was the sort of thing that you ask about first...”

“You hinted,” Bård echoed. 

“That’s usually all he needs; sometimes being direct hurts his feelings. You should have seen how excited he was.”

Behind Bård, there was a soft _whuff_ , and exclamations from his family, and a flush of heat at the backs of his calves. “Jessalyn,” he said, turning, “normally I’m sympathetic to these kinds of concerns, but right now I’m looking around and I can’t help but notice how on fire my living room is.”

“Oh! I--is it bad?”

It was just the box burning, and the initial flare had already died down. Jens had grabbed up the blanket in an apparent attempt to use it to douse the flames, but in the process he’d scattered dragon kittens everywhere, and he had frozen in horror, the blanket smouldering at the edges. 

“I can't tell,” Bård said dryly. “I’ve never set _good_ levels of being on fire, to know if this surpasses them.” The sound of the smoke detector pierced the air, and he stuck one finger into his ear and shouted to be heard. “But it is at least twelve times as on fire as I like my living room to be on Christmas morning.”

“What do you need me to do?” she asked.

“Tell me where I can put them. I don’t want to hurt them, and I don’t want to hurt Finn’s feelings, but--” A stream of chemical foam shot past him, dousing the smouldering blanket and spattering the wall, the carpet, his pants, and one of the dragons. “--they can’t stay here.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jessalyn promised.

“Thanks,” Bård said.

When he hung up, he turned around, and saw the mournful looks on his children’s faces. “Guys, I’m really sorry,” he said. “I know they’re cute and fluffy and nobody else at school has one, but we just can’t take care of... animals like this.”

“Dragons,” Sofie said. “We know. That’s not the problem. The fire extinguisher scared them all off.”

“Sneezy flew,” Jens said. “He climbed to the top of the china cabinet and flew!”

Maria gave Bård a look that was weary and fond and exasperated and amused all at once. “Fru Eliassen is going to be here in--” She glanced at the clock, and her eyes flew wide. “Ten minutes! Okay. Jens, Mama needs your help cleaning up in here. Sofie, Nora, help your father find those... they’re not _really_ dragons, are they?”

“Really dragons,” Bård said. “Not the big kind that lives in the mountains; the small ones you see going through people’s trash.”

Maria looked dismayed for a moment, and then shook her head. “You’re not going to say anything to Fru Eliassen, are you? I’ve been trying to convince her that we’re just a normal family. She’ll think she’s on hidden camera or something.”

Bård scanned the room, looking for tiny fluffy scaly bodies. He saw a flash of green fuzz behind the tree, and dove for it. There was a squawk and a noise like a hiccup, and only Nora’s quickness with the fire extinguisher saved the tree. Bård emerged foamy, with a squirming, spluttering dragon cupped in his hands, squeaking her outrage. “I won’t say a thing,” he panted, “but I’m not sure that will help.”

Sofie had disappeared, but now she reappeared holding a metal cage. She gently took the green dragon from her father, and slipped it through the door, stroking its head with a thumb. “One down,” she reported, latching the cage. Squeaky gave her a last angry _meep_ and started grooming herself, combing the foam out of her downy fur with her claws. “Four to go.”

***

As a rule, Maria didn’t worry too much about what people thought. When your significant other made a living pranking strangers, eating books, and subjecting celebrities to good-natured public humiliation, you couldn’t afford to care. On the other hand, when he made as good a living as Bård did, you could certainly afford not to. Maria had everything she wanted and a little more, and that made for a certain clarity of thought. She had only her loved ones to impress, and no one to fear, and all she could ever do was her best. She did her best, then, in all of the roles that she had chosen for herself, and trusted that there would be people who appreciated it. It had worked very well so far.

So really she shouldn’t make an exception for Fru Eliassen, except that the poor woman had been through quite enough lately. Maria had known her to see her ever since they’d moved to this neighbourhood, and understood from what neighbours said that her husband Arne was ill. The husband had died this past September. Maria and Bård had of course sent flowers and a memorial donation to the hospital that had cared for him. Then last week Maria had been walking Channing, and seen Fru Eliassen at the mailboxes, trying hard to conceal tears. It was going to be her first Christmas without Arne, of course, and Maria had thought that was enough, but later she got a call from Lillian down the block, telling her to be extra careful locking up, because Fru Eliassen’s house had been burgled. That had been it for Maria; the next time she saw Fru Eliassen she had invited the woman to stop by on Christmas Day. The old woman’s smile had started out radiant, and then dimmed a little. “Are you sure your husband won’t mind me?” she asked. “He doesn’t seem very gregarious.”

“Bård is very kind,” Maria said. “He’s just a bit reserved around strangers when he’s not at work, and he doesn’t like to impose on people.”

“That makes perfect sense,” Fru Eliassen said. “I used to work at Steen and Strøm when I was your age, and I could be friendly as you please on the floor, but when I got home from a busy night, I didn’t want to talk to anyone.”

“Exactly,” Maria said. “We’re really just a normal family. And we’d love it if you’d come by.”

That had been last week, and at the time, she’d believed it fervently. Everything that had happened to her brother-in-law meant that Christmas was going to be a little subdued, so reaching out to someone who would also be having a difficult time seemed natural. But now, with her living room a shambles and--god help her--dragons scattered all over the house, she thought she would be doing well if she could convince Fru Eliassen that they weren’t all stark raving.

Jens helped her hustle the burned box out of the room, cover certain char marks with artfully placed pillows and throws, and open some windows to air the place out. She lit a vanilla candle and placed it on a side table, only to have Nora spin around and hose it down with the fire extinguisher. Nora was aghast at herself; Sofie couldn’t stop laughing. Jens laughed a little too, but then got right down to cleaning up the foam. 

Maria was just surveying the living room, making a short list of the things she still needed to do and reflecting with some satisfaction that five minutes would take care of it, when the doorbell rang. 

Fru Eliassen stood there in what looked like her best dress, with a canvas bag and a bottle of wine. “Merry Christmas, Maria.”

“Merry Christmas, Fru Eliassen!” Maria was aware of a flurry of activity behind her. There was a faint scrabbling noise, a chattering, and a yelp of pain. She offered the older woman a broad smile. “Won’t you come in?”

Fru Eliassen inhaled deeply as she crossed the threshold. “Pine smoke! Oh, that smell takes me back to Drøbak. Some of the happiest Christmases of my life were spent there.”

Maria smiled. “How nice!” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bård motioning to her with wide eyes. “Take a seat anywhere. Would you like some gløgg?”

Fru Eliassen’s eyes sparkled. “I would just love some.”

“I’ll be right back, then.”

Maria joined Bård in the kitchen. “Where’s Channing?” Bård whispered. 

“He... _was_ upstairs. Oh god, we have to find them before Channing does.” They’d lucked out with the tree; Fru Eliassen might not appreciate the smell of roasted dog nearly as much. “Tell Nora to find him and close him up in the basement.” 

“Will do,” he said. “Are you okay entertaining Fru Eliassen?”

Maria picked a cup, reconsidered, picked another larger one, and ladled it full of gløgg. “Will do.”

***

“Papa!” Jens called, and Bård left the kitchen at a run. He found the boy in the laundry room, holding the charred remains of the brand new t-shirt he’d gotten for Christmas and glaring at the blue and violet dragon, which had wedged itself between the laundry tubs and the wall. Bård reached for the dragon, and it bared its tiny teeth and let out something that would probably have been a menacing growl if it were pitched lower.

“Jens,” Bård said, picking up a steel bucket from the corner, “could you please get Sofie and a bit of food from the kitchen? What do dragons eat?”

“Princesses,” said Jens. 

“Don’t hold out for a princess,” Bård advised.

The boy took a bit longer than Bård expected. Bård talked in soothing tones to the little dragon all the while. It chattered angrily back at him. 

Jens returned with a devilled egg, snatched from the plate Maria had brought out for Fru Eliassen. “Sofie is coming in a minute. Fru Eliassen wanted to know about school,” he said. 

“What did you tell her?” Bård asked.

“That I couldn’t talk because I was hunting dragons.”

“Awesome,” Bård said. “And what did she say to that?”

“That she hoped I caught a lot.”

“Awesome,” Bård said again, and this time he meant it.

Bård pressed the mouth of the bucket against the side of the laundry tubs. It was Jens’ job to stand on the other side and make sure that Snarly didn’t try to retreat that way. To this end, he had the toilet plunger, and the lid from the big stock pot to protect him from fire. It might have been overkill--the kittens didn’t seem to be able to manage much more than a spark or two, and there was nothing in the immediate vicinity that would burn--but Bård wasn’t taking chances with his own children.

When they were set up, Bård took a krone from his pocket and dropped it behind the laundry tubs, right in the centre. There was another chattering, and then he felt a weight thud into the bucket as Snarly tried to get away from this new invasion. He upended the bucket in a hurry, and felt a rush of heat. He had to pull his hands away, but only for a moment. The bucket rattled but did not overturn, and Snarly’s chattering died to miserable peeps. 

Sofie chose that moment to come in. With a hand clad in an oven mitt, she picked up Snarly and put her next to her sister. Squeaky licked one of Snarly’s bat ears, and they huddled up together.

***

Shouts of triumph rose from the laundry room. Fru Eliassen laughed. “Is that your husband?”

“Yes,” Maria said. “I’m sure he’ll be out in a bit, he’s just...”

“Hunting dragons with your son?” Fru Eliassen laughed. “Oh, I miss those days with ours. Jarle is in Fiji right now. He offered to cancel, but he and Ann have been planning it for months, and it would cost them thousands of kroner to cancel, and I didn’t have the heart. And Mona said I was welcome to come to Belgium, but she was scheduled to work last night and she only rents the one little room, and... I do miss my children terribly, Fru Ylvisåker, but it’s a difficult time for me, and Christmas Eve alone in a little room was not going to make it better.”

“Of course not,” Maria murmured. “And please, call me Maria.”

Fru Eliassen’s eyes shone. “Then call me Bjørg. You cherish them, Maria. You cherish every second of them playing together like that.”

“I do,” Maria assured her.

***

Nora reported that neither Channing nor the dragons were in any of the upstairs bedrooms or bathrooms. Jens checked the downstairs powder room, Sofie checked the basement and the back porch, and Bård checked his studio. Nothing. He closed and locked the door, and returned to the kitchen. All three kids met him there. "Okay, now what--"

"Sh!" Sofie put a finger to her lips, and then pointed it slowly, ever so slowly, at the sink. 

There were chewing noises coming from beneath. And, now that they were paying attention, the unmistakable odour of garbage. 

"Okay," Bård said, speaking very softly. "I think all of you should go out and help Mama entertain Fru Eliassen." 

"So we can distract her in case it gets noisy?"

"So that I can swear creatively and at length, but that's good thinking, Nora."

When the kids were gone, Bård went back into the laundry room. He returned to the kitchen with the gently browned bucket in one hand and the spare bathmat from the laundry in the other. 

He very carefully opened the cupboard door under the sink, just a crack, and the noises stopped. 

Bård took out his phone and turned the light on. Then he slipped it into the crack. When it hit the bottom of the cupboard, there was a skittering, and something clunked on the u-bend in the pipe. Then the compost bin under the sink tipped over, and an avalanche of potato peelings, squash innards, and fruit rinds barely missed his phone. Bård held his breath and counted to ten. By the time he got to eight, the chewing noises had started up again.

With the light on the phone already illuminating the cupboard, Bård could slowly open the door and peer in. An orange and yellow dragon was perched on top of the garbage can, with its head buried in the carcass of last Thursday's chicken. 

Bård inched forward, holding the bathmat ready to throw over the dragon. Slowly… slowly…

His phone rang. 

Bård's head jerked up, and he whacked it on the u-bend. Stinky jumped and tried to run, hind legs scrabbling in chicken grease. He kicked a handful of small bones into Bård's face before fleeing, taking up residence somewhere behind the dishwasher pods. 

Bård extricated himself from the cupboard, wiped his hands on the bathmat as best he could, and swiped the phone to answer. "Hello?"

"Bård!" said Jessalyn. "Is this a bad time?"

"I am on my hands and knees on the kitchen floor, covered in rancid fat."

"Okay, so maybe it's a good time. I don't judge. The best I could do for you is, there's a broker outside of Hakadal who said he'd take them, if you can bring them over on Wednesday."

"Wednesday?" Bård shrilled, springing to his feet.

"Wednesday. And if you ask me he sounded shady. Like they'd wind up on someone's table. "

"Table?" Bård said, even shriller this time.

"It happens. I probably don't know enough about it to talk about it with any authority, and maybe I'm wrong anyway. I'm just telling you what I got."

"Thanks for checking it out," Bård sighed. "I do appreciate it."

"I'm guessing it's a no on the broker, then?"

"Ask me again tomorrow," Bård said through his teeth. 

When he'd hung up, he caught sight of himself in the microwave door. He had bits of chicken stuck to his face, and a potato peeling dangled over one ear. The floor in front of the sink was covered in garbage.

His eyes fell on the gift basket sitting on top of the dishwasher. Sardines.

Stinky still cowered in the back corner of the cupboard. Bård took the garbage and the compost out of the cupboard altogether, tying up the bags and putting them out on the back deck. They would have been out of bags now, if not for Brynjar. 

Now Bård opened the sardines, and laid a trail of them from the back of the cupboard out onto the bathmat. He waited with the bucket.

What felt like forever later, the cupboard door opened another centimetre, and a snubbed yellow snout poked out. Bård waited until Stinky had cleared the cupboard, and brought the bucket down in a hurry.

There was a flush of heat--expected--and now a squeal--unexpected, at least at that volume. Bård pulled the bucket up in alarm. The grease-soaked bathmat was burning. 

He scrabbled around, found the gift basket, pulled the fire blanket out of its wrappings, and threw it over the frantic little dragon. 

A few seconds went by before he dared to lift the blanket. The fire was out. Stinky was mewing pitifully, his down singed off. Bård reached for him, and Stinky sank his teeth into Bård’s thumb. Then he crept into Bård's hands, quaking.

"Hey, little guy," Bård singsonged, running his fingers lightly over the little body, checking for burns. Dragon skin must be pretty resilient, but one of Stinky’s hind feet looked red and angry, and the dragon keened and tried to bite again when Bård probed it. "Hey, it's okay. It's okay. Lucky for you, Uncle Brynjar is weird." He put Polysporin and bandages on the burn. "Therrrrrrre we go. Good boy. You’re okay. You’re okay. Had enough fun? Ready to rejoin the family?" He got to his feet. "Sofie!"

He'd been going to tell her to get the cage, but clever girl, she'd brought it with her. Bård took a step out to meet her, and his foot struck something mushy that soaked his sock. 

The smell of sardines wafted up. Sofie stifled a laugh. Bård only sighed.

He pulled off his socks and tossed them in the laundry room with the singed bathmat. He combed potato peelings out of his hair with his fingers, and raided the gift basket for baby wipes, to clean his face. He bandaged his thumb. After that, he washed out the cupboard and gave the floor a quick mopping. 

This done, he pulled the socks out of the gift basket. Next to it was an aerosol can of cranberry air freshener. He spritzed the room. Then he spritzed himself. Then he put on his new socks, and went off to hunt dragons.

Nora and Jens met him in the hallway, blocking his way. “We found the fourth one,” Nora whispered. 

“And Channing!” Jens said.

Heart in his throat, Bård followed their pointing fingers into the foyer. Channing had found the microfibre blanket and taken possession of it. The fourth little dragon, turquoise and red, was nestled between Channing’s neck and his paws, fast asleep. Channing opened one eye and cocked it balefully at Bård. He gave Sleepy a deliberate lick, to show Bård how things stood. 

But now Bård’s eye fell on something he’d missed before. Dragging on the floor beside the blanket, attached to it with a safety pin and somehow miraculously undamaged by fire, was an envelope. Careful not to disturb the dog, Bård picked it up. The other side read, “BÅRD - OPEN ASAP.”

He eased two sheets out of the envelope. One was paper; the other was acetate, of the sort seen in transparencies, or on the overlay spells Tara Jordiskhelten had made for them. And this was an overlay too, he saw, covered in a complicated glyph that swooped in and turned over on itself. 

The note was in Finn’s cramped handwriting. It said,

> Dear Bård,
> 
> I know it’s been a rough couple of months, and no gift I can give you will undo that. When I heard that someone had found a litter of dragons in an abandoned house in Geithus though I saw a chance to give you something bloody amazing that I know you don’t have already. They’re omnivores, and you can feed them dog food, cat food, compost, etc. Litter trainable. They are about as intelligent as cats at first, and the bigger they get, the smarter they get. After a couple of years they’ll usually grow out of the house and want to move on. They might already have a bit of fire if startled, so enclosed is a spell that you can apply to the house to make them specifically incapable of damaging it and all who are welcome within. I hope you’ll find them as enchanting as I do. 
> 
> Love, Blessed Solstice, & Merry Christmas,
> 
> Finn

“Papa,” said Jens, “why are you banging your head against the wall like that?”

Maria poked her head into the hall. “Bård, Sofie says you’ve still got one more left, but can you take a moment, just a moment, to look in on Fru Eliassen?”

“In a moment,” said Bård. “I think there’s something I can do.”

“If you wait a moment, you won’t get a chance,” Maria said, a little exasperated. “I’m putting together a plate of cookies for her, and then she’s going to go.”

“Oh,” Bård said softly. “Then of course.”

He got slowly to his feet, walked out to the living room, and stopped short. Fru Eliassen was sitting on the couch with Sneezy in her lap. The dragon purred as she ran a gentle hand over his sides. 

Bård pretended not to notice, and extended a hand. “Fru Eliassen.”

“You must be Bård,” she said, looking delighted as she took his hand. “Forgive me for not getting up. Lap cat, you know.”

“Lap cat,” Bård agreed in a small voice, not sure what else to say.

“He must have been under the couch, because when your wife left, he crawled right up here to visit me. What’s his name?”

“Ah,” said Bård. “The kids have been calling him Sneezy. We... they... a friend of ours dropped them off today.”

“Them?” said Fru Eliassen. “There’s more than one?”

“Five. They, uh, got out of their basket just before you came. Hence the, uh, hunt. We said dragons, to make it more fun.”

“You seem very nervous,” Fru Eliassen said. “Sit, sit! Your wife said you were a bit shy away from cameras.”

“Yes, that’s it!” said Bård, and it felt good to sit for a moment, even as he wracked his brain for a way to get that dragon off her lap safely. “I mean... that’s exactly it. Shy. Yes. Retiring. _Not_ , not _literally_ retiring, I mean...”

“Goodness, young man, I don’t bite! And I’m not going to run to the press or anything.”

Bård bit his fist to keep from braying with laughter. He could see the headline now: _Ylvis kitten incinerates pensioner!_ “Of course,” he said. 

Fru Eliassen tickled Sneezy under his chin. The little creature arched his back and narrowed his eyes, and rubbed his face against the side of her hand. “I love kittens,” she confessed. “I miss them. The last cat we had--Brandy, a tabby, the most perfect lady you can think of--died four years ago, and with Arne feeling poorly, it just didn’t seem right to get another. But I might now, you know. I might, for the company. Although what happened earlier this month makes me wonder if I might be better off with a dog.”

An idea was forming in Bård’s head. He smacked it down, and asked some polite and sympathetic questions about the burglary until Maria came back with the cookies. 

“Ah, dear,” Fru Eliassen sighed. She gave Sneezy a couple of final pats, and then gently lifted him off her lap. The little dragon protested, but not in flames. She smiled down at him for a long while, and then said, “Do you know where your friend got him? Are there more?”

“You should take the ones we have,” Jens said solemnly, handing the cage to her. While they’d been talking, the kids had somehow managed to coax Sleepy in there as well. “We can’t keep them. They destroy things.”

“Jens!” Maria said.

“I think it’s a good idea,” said Nora. “Then they can protect her from burglars, and we could visit them, couldn’t we?”

“Of course you could, and I would consider myself well protected, but I think your mother and father might want to--”

“Nora, Jens,” Maria broke in, “I’m sure Fru Eliassen doesn’t want her house destroyed by... five...of these.”

“Oh nonsense,” Fru Eliassen chuckled. “I’ve a big empty house, and Brandy had two, _two_ of those robotic self-cleaning litter trays--long story, the first one was still under warranty--and if you really can bear to part with these little darlings...”

“We can bear it if you can!” Sofie said brightly. 

Bård looked over his family. Maria had raised a single eyebrow. “Fru Eliassen,” he said, “if this is truly what you want, I’d be happy to carry the cage over and help you set things up.”

Fru Eliassen said that indeed it was, and then excused herself to use the downstairs powder room. Maria trapped Bård at the door. “You are about to pawn our _dragon_ problem off on an eighty-two-year-old woman,” she hissed.

He pulled out Finn’s letter to show her, extricating the sheet of acetate and tucking it into his own pocket. “Finn included a protection spell. I’ll put it on when I’m over there, so she won’t have to go through all _this_.”

“‘To all those who are welcome within,’” Maria murmured, reading, and looked up with a light in her eyes. “So our dragons get a home, Fru Eliassen gets some company, and anyone who is _not_ welcome within gets a nasty surprise.”

“Thank you all so very much,” Fru Eliassen said, emerging from the powder room. “I feel, I just feel like this is what Christmas is all about.”

***

A week later, Finn and Bård sat on Bård’s couch, heads bent together. “Now catch the yarn with the needle on your right hand, and pull it through,” Bård said. “There, you’re getting it!”

“I’m getting it!” Finn echoed, eyeing the small blue knit square that was taking shape in his hands. Still looking at the work, and very carefully not looking at Bård, he said, “Had to... to find another home for the dragons?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Bård said. “They were a bit much for us to handle. But we loved the thought. Thank you.”

“They were very cute,” Maria assured him. 

Finn gave them a sheepish smile. “Yeah. Jess told me afterwards that surprise pets are bad form. I’ll find you proper gifts,” he vowed.

“Those chocolate caramel tarts are extremely proper,” Maria told him, “and if they turn out not to be, I think we can just revel in impropriety tonight, can’t we?”

“They look delicious,” Bård assured him. “I can’t believe Melantha would pass this up.”

Finn rolled his eyes a little. “Her mother insisted on the girls spending it there. Which I understand. But Melantha swears that she is not yet ready to have me and her mother under the same roof for any length of time. Which I _don’t_ understand. I met her at the Hallowe’en party for _our_ new year back in October, and she seems like a lovely woman.”

Bård shrugged. “More tarts for us, then.”

“But listen, the dragons... I mean, what did you... are they...?”

“We found someone who needed them more,” Bård said. “Someone who will absolutely cherish them.”

“Oh!” Finn said. “Well, that’s good, then! But I’m sorry if they were trouble.”

“They were a spot of adventure on Christmas Day,” Maria said cheerfully.

Finn waved the square of knitting at her. “Next year? Everyone gets sweaters.”

“I think that’s a very good idea, Finn,” Bård said.


End file.
